


Most Times, A Ghost is a Wish

by sekiharatae



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Cloti - Freeform, F/M, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:47:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27880990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sekiharatae/pseuds/sekiharatae
Summary: Tifa is terrified of ghosts, but Aerith needs her support in investigating a haunted house. Luckily, some ghosts aren't as scary as she thinks.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 42
Kudos: 77





	Most Times, A Ghost is a Wish

**Author's Note:**

> I started this for cloti freak week 2020 but it very clearly got out of hand.
> 
> Thanks to @iaintyourbrah for beta reading this somewhere around 3/4 done so I could stop freaking out and finish. ❤️❤️❤️ Thanks, also, to everyone on twitter who expressed enthusiasm and encouragement.

Tifa was terrified of ghosts. As far as she was concerned, her run-in with an eligor and its minions made this a perfectly reasonable reaction. She knew with absolute certainty that ghosts, ghouls, and phantoms were real, and that they were willing and able to kill. 

It was thus nothing less than a mark of how much she loved Aerith–unexpected ghost whisperer and Planet’s best friend–that she’d agreed to join her on a trip to the Shinra Ghost Mansion. The building was once a hospital where SOLDIERS suffering from degradation, an affliction that usually proved fatal, were treated. As such, the leap to ‘planet’s most haunted building’ was understandably short. And they were visiting in autumn, the most traditionally haunting-heavy part of the year. Yet Aerith had come to her and said the Planet wasn’t just asking her to pay the place a visit, but _insisting_. What kind of friend would Tifa be to let her go it alone? She could serve as moral support if nothing else.

Still... it was an effort to stand straight, with eyes facing front, rather than huddle in on herself and scan the shadows. This was the sort of situation for which boyfriends had been invented; she and Aerith had clearly made the wrong life choices to be doing this alone. Lacking a comforting shoulder to cuddle against, Tifa instead tried to take her cues from Aerith, who seemed completely unconcerned as they checked in and were shown to their rooms on the second floor.

Shinra having decided to capitalize on the ‘haunted’ rumors by further exploiting the men who’d died for the company, they were staying in the connecting Strife and Fair rooms, named after two SOLDIER Firsts who had supposedly spent their last days there. “Cloud Strife and Zack Fair were best friends right up till the end,” the bellhop shared. “They passed within hours of each other.” 

Which really wasn’t something Tifa needed to know. What was she supposed to say in response? ‘Thanks, but it’s not any less terrifying now I know the ghost’s name’? She settled for a murmured, but equally truthful, “How sad.”

The building as a whole was sumptuously if rather stereotypically decorated, leaning heavily on gothic themes, and their rooms were no exception. Each was furnished with a massive four-poster bed made of some dark-stained wood, with linens and velvet hangings in an equally dark SOLDIER blue. Matching bedside tables, dresser bureaus, and TV armoires rounded out the case goods, while a set of oversized black and blue plaid wingback chairs and a black leather ottoman in front of the fireplace created a cozy sitting area. Large bathrooms offered a choice between a glass-walled shower or a sunken tub, black enamel and silver fixtures striking against the black and dark blue of the tile. The only differences between them were that Aerith’s room had built-in bookshelves along one wall, while one corner of Tifa’s was the rounded stonework abutment of one of the mansion’s decorative towers. 

“Who do they think they’re fooling with this setup?” Tifa demanded, leaning one shoulder against the frame of the connecting door and watching as Aerith began unpacking for their week-long stay. “If those poor men slept in giant four posters behind velvet hangings, or had separate, lavish baths, then I’m Jessie Rasberry.”

“Jessie is taller and less endowed,” Aerith returned with a cheeky smile, hanging her nightgown from the hook on the bathroom door.

“I rest my case.” Walking into the room, Tifa collapsed into one of the wingback chairs. “So? Anything?”

Aerith shook her head. “Not yet.” She wasn’t exactly sure how her abilities worked. How close she needed to be to a ghost to detect it, or if it only worked with spirits that were reaching out in some way. The few she’d interacted with had been either malevolent or in emotional turmoil. “But the rooms were here, just like the Planet said.” After repeated visions of the mansion during a storm and on a clear, sunny day, booking the Strife and Fair rooms seemed the obvious connection.

“The Planet told you which rooms to stay in?” This was completely new and utterly unwelcome information as far as Tifa was concerned, and her voice came out high and strained. “Does that mean these are the safest rooms in the building, or the most haunted?”

Shrugging her shoulders, Aerith continued putting her clothes in the dresser. “Don’t know. Maybe we’ll find out tonight!” 

Disgusted by this bit of optimism, Tifa glared her annoyance at the back of her head, giving it up as a waste of effort when she never turned around to see it.

“Aren’t you going to unpack?” Grabbing her toiletries and heading into the bathroom, Aerith voiced the question and let the echoes carry it to Tifa.

She didn’t really want to, but it _would_ be more convenient than living directly out of her suitcase. “I guess.” Sighing, she returned to her room and the bag resting on the luggage stand. Carefully inspecting the inside of the drawers before beginning to unpack, she whispered, “Please don’t leave ectoplasm on my clothing,” as she placed her items inside. Immediately, a surge of incredulous amusement washed over her, leaving behind the distinct impression that she was being watched. Head shooting up, she frantically searched the room. “Aerith?!”

Long seconds ticked past, until it seemed like an age with no response. Just as she was about to call again Aerith appeared in the doorway. “What?”

“Is there something in here?” Tifa barely breathed the question, clutching her pajamas to her chest.

Her expression going glazed and distant, Aerith considered. “Not that I can tell. Why?”

Straightening with a sigh, Tifa busied herself shaking her pajamas out of the ball she’d crumpled them into. “I just... I felt like I was being watched.” _And laughed at, albeit gently._

Grinning, Aerith walked further into the room and picked up one of the many framed photographs incorporated into the decor. “You are! This guy is going to keep a close eye on you while we’re here.” Turning the picture around, she held it mere inches from Tifa’s face. “I’m sure nothing will hurt you while SOLDIER First Class Cloud Strife is on the job.”

The blond man in the photo was, like most SOLDIERS, inhumanly handsome. Frozen while he was ruffling the hair on the back of his head, his expression somehow managed to convey both irritation and sheepishness. It was all too easy to imagine he’d make exactly the same face in response to Aerith’s assertion, a coincidence that had Tifa smiling despite herself. 

“I thought there weren’t any ghosts in here.” Ducking around Aerith’s outstretched arm, Tifa went to stow her pajamas and toiletries in the bathroom.

“Not that I can sense,” Aerith agreed. “But if Cloud does linger, he doesn’t look the type to go bump in the night. I doubt he’d try to hurt or scare you.”

Returning to the bedroom and taking the photo from Aerith, Tifa looked at it for a long moment, taking in the lean, muscular lines of his body. Cloud Strife, before returning to the planet, had been exactly her type, and if he were flesh-and-blood she might not mind if he wanted to ‘bump’ her in the night. A sidelong glance revealed Aerith was giving her a knowing look, which elicited just a hint of a smile before Tifa caught it with her teeth. Rolling her eyes and ignoring the feel of heat in her cheeks, she put the picture back where it came from and linked her arm through Aerith’s. “Dinner?”

Three hours later, darkness had managed to increase the hotel’s creepiness factor exponentially, something she wouldn’t have thought possible. Every unexpected sound, every shift in the shadows along the wall, and Tifa cringed in fear. She hated it. Hated being afraid, hated that she was helpless against it. But she knew all too well that ghosts and phantoms could appear without warning. Knew what it felt like to be possessed by one, a prisoner in her own mind and body; knew the horrible pulling sensation as her life drained out of her when they fed. Knew, too, that her martial arts training was useless when fighting an incorporeal foe.

Against those memories, telling herself that the distant gurgles and clanks were nothing more than water through old pipes, or that the movement of the shadows was due to the wind outside, had proven to be less than reassuring. Then she’d made the mistake of closing the bed curtains, reasoning the fabric would block the shifts of light and further muffle the noises. She’d been on the verge of hyperventilating when she threw them open again, finding that ignorance was definitely not bliss.

Shivering and miserable, she cuddled deeper into the plush bedding and tried to find something–anything–that would distract her from her fears. Wedge coaxing yet another cat to be his friend. Aerith working in her garden. Biggs teaching the children at Leaf House the alphabet. Jessie reading lines for her role at the Gold Saucer. Mundane things. Common things. Yet each time she started to relax, another faint creak had her eyes snapping open, a whimper trapped in her throat, more awake than ever. Maybe she should imagine a protector instead? Like Barret in full-on father figure guardian mode, ready to gun down anything that moved?

 _Or maybe..._ Remembering Aerith’s earlier words like a lifeline, her gaze darted around the room until finally settling on the framed photo of Cloud Strife on the bedside table. This one had caught him looking directly into the camera, the expression in his deep blue, mako eyes serious and intent. Captivating. There was something intelligent and protective in them. Like Aerith said, he didn’t look the type to try and hurt or scare anyone, much less an already frightened young woman, huddling in bed from sheer terror. His shoulders appeared strong and capable, broad enough to provide a shield against the world.

Focusing on the picture, Tifa tried to imagine what it would be like if he were real. If he were alive and present, offering to protect her like the boyfriend she’d longed for when they first arrived. How it would feel when he snuggled her close, the knit fabric of his uniform slightly rough against her cheek. The body beneath would be warm, his chest and arms firm with muscle. A trained professional, his manner would be comforting, but as her boyfriend his care would be personal. Tender. 

“You’re safe,” he would whisper, voice deep, lips just brushing her temple. Strong hands would rub soothingly over her back, gathering her close until her body rested completely in the shelter of his. Face tucked into the curve of his neck, her gaze constrained by the line of his jaw and the jut of his shoulder, Tifa would stop jumping at shadows. His scent–masculine and crisp–would further soothe her nerves. And the beat of his heart, a steady, comforting rhythm, would help her ignore the ambient sounds.

“Cloud.” His name was the barest of whispers, a soft smile curving Tifa’s lips as her eyelids grew heavy.

 _Shhh. I’ve got you._ Mako eyes watched the room in her stead, scanning the space as his fingers sifted through her hair. Under the covers his legs twined with hers, anchoring her in his embrace. _Sleep now._

Tifa slept.

* * *

“Tifa!” Aerith’s voice calling her name filtered through the fog of sleep, inducing Tifa to snuggle closer to the hard, muscled body holding her so carefully. 

_I think it’s time to get up._ His observation was warm and quietly amused.

“Don’t wanna,” Tifa murmured, fisting her hands in his shirt and scrunching her eyes closed.

He chuckled, fingers gently brushing her hair back from her face. _You really are adorable._

Aerith marched into the room, dressed for the day ahead in a pink corduroy dress. “I never thought it would be _me_ having to wake _you_ during our stay here.” Reaching out, she grabbed the covers and tossed them back. “Come on, get up!”

Unable to hold on to the vestiges of her dream any longer, Tifa blinked her eyes open only to squint them at Aerith. 

“Yes, yes, your glare is very fierce. But it’s close to ten and I’m hungry.” Bending over the bed, Aerith grabbed Tifa’s hand and tugged. “Please get up.”

“All right, all right!” Wide awake upon hearing the time, Tifa sat up and stretched, even flexing her feet and splaying her hands. Once her whole body felt invigorated, she scooted to the edge of the bed and stood. “I just need a few minutes to get dressed and brush my teeth.” Grabbing clothing from the dresser, she disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.

“I was going to ask how you slept,” Aerith called, raising her voice, “but it looks like you slept just fine.”

“Mostly. I had some trouble at first, but once I was out, I was out. You?”

Making herself comfortable in one of the wingback chairs, Aerith rubbed her eyes. “I went to sleep fairly easily, but I had strange dreams.” Some of them were, possibly, the result of the Planet attempting to communicate with her. Like the repeated images she _thought_ might represent freedom: birds in flight, open windows, a broken gate, prisoners being freed from their shackles. There were also flashes of an endless green ocean that, most likely, represented the lifestream. But there had been other images and impressions that were incomprehensible. Visceral hatred and abject fear. A burning, acidic pain that started on her skin and then grew steadily deeper, until it penetrated every muscle, bone, and organ. The feeling of being lost in a crowd of people, all of whom were yelling. Then, finally, peace overshadowed by a profound sense of _smugness_. 

“Aerith?” Toothbrush in hand, Tifa opened the bathroom door to peer out, concerned about the lengthy silence on the other side.

Dropping her hands from her face, Aerith offered an expression somewhere between a grimace and a smile. “I woke about an hour ago with a terrible headache. I’m hoping food will help.” And then maybe she could make sense of what she’d seen in her dreams.

“Food sounds good,” Tifa agreed. Ducking back into the bathroom, she finished brushing her teeth in record time before emerging fresh faced and alert. Hair in a ponytail, she’d donned a blue and gray star-patterned sweatshirt dress with matching blue tights to combat the persistent chill in the air. If she were a betting person, she’d wager that was a deliberate choice on Shinra’s part, meant to enhance the ‘spooky’ atmosphere. “Ready if you are.”

Food did seem to help. Coffee helped even more. Pain free and lingering over her second cup, Aerith told Tifa about her dreams.

“Do you think the Planet wants you to free someone or something?” Tifa drummed her fingers on the table as she thought out loud. 

“It seems a likely assumption,” Aerith agreed. “But who or what, and why would they be _here_?”

“Um... hello? Remember that this is the _Shinra_ Ghost Mansion.” While Tifa’s fear had her placing most of the emphasis on the _ghos_ t part of the name, Shinra’s ownership mattered. “I _know_ you haven’t forgotten the company’s history.” 

If anyone knew firsthand why someone might need to escape from Shinra, it was Aerith. “It’s been fifteen years, though.” Aerith’s voice was soft. “The Planet wouldn’t send me here if I’d be in that sort of danger again. And after Mom’s case, the WRO saw the Shinra science division dismantled.”

“I know.” Reaching across the table, Tifa took Aerith’s hand in hers, offering comfort and support. “But every SOLDIER who died here died as a result of unethical genetic experiments. The hotel opened long after you and your mother escaped, but degradation was more of a concurring event. Maybe something got shoved under the carpet?”

Aerith shivered. It was a truly horrifying thought–that not only had someone been experimented on, but then _forgotten_. Locked up and left behind. And for the Planet to be concerned... “It has to be either the SOLDIERs themselves, or another Cetra.” Humans didn’t really draw the Planet’s attention. Only the Cetra and the Calamity–the being Shinra called Jenova–did, and the SOLDIERS as carriers of that contagion would qualify.

“Okay. Then let’s start with that tour of the building. We’ll at least learn about the history and see the public spaces.” The odds of finding anything particularly illuminating were low, but Aerith needed information to decipher the Planet’s messages, and they had to start _somewhere_.

The tour was fairly standard sightseeing fare, a supposedly ‘behind the scenes’ look at areas of the building not otherwise open to the public. Although all three ranks of SOLDIER members had been hit by degradation, people weren’t interested in being haunted by the lower ranks. Conveniently, the story Shinra told held that the second floor, with the guest suites, had been where the firsts had been housed and treated. The third floor, which was divided into massive wards, was where the seconds and thirds had lived their last days, and was the focus of the tour. 

As they walked, their tour guide, an overly perky blond woman by the name of Elena, managed to pepper some scant pieces of historical information into her ghost spiel. From the dates given, degradation had swept through the SOLDIERS mere months after Ifalna had taken Aerith and escaped from a Shinra lab. The two Cetra had been recovering from their ordeal, the WRO investigation just barely underway, when Shinra’s poster boys had fallen ill. 

“The first hauntings came a few years after the last of those poor men died,” she confided in a tone breathless with excitement. “Sephiroth appeared, striding down the hallway on the second floor!” This prompted much oooing and ahhing from the ten or so other people in their group. Tifa shivered, hugging herself, while Aerith’s expression remained politely interested. “Director Palmer was here, and he witnessed the manifestation himself. It was his experience that led to the Ghost Mansion opening just one year later.” 

“So, the timing _is_ right,” Tifa said once they’d returned to their rooms. The knowledge left her feeling sick to her stomach. “Should we talk to Reeve? Find out what he knows about this place?” As the current head of the WRO, Reeve would be able to tell them whether the Ghost Mansion had been investigated as a Shinra ‘hospital’. He was also aware of Aerith’s special abilities, having consulted with both she and her mother multiple times on environmental projects. Explaining why they needed to know would thus be as easy as mentioning the planet, rather than having to explain that Cetra were real, the planet was sentient, and no, they weren’t crazy.

“I probably should have contacted him before we ever left home.” Aerith made the admission ruefully. It had been beyond optimistic to assume the Planet’s needs would become clear once they arrived. Nothing about communing with it was _ever_ that simple. “I’ll send him an email and then follow up with a call in the morning.”

Walking over to the evacuation map on the inside of the door, Tifa nodded. “Maybe copy the list of rooms and include that. Give him some names he can track down.”

“Good idea.” Laptop in hand, Aerith settled into one of the wingback chairs to compose her message. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to compare the map of this floor to the one above it, based on memory.” As depicted, the second floor consisted of a vaguely I-shaped hallway with a few guest rooms on each end. The third floor was larger due to the two story ceiling over the foyer; open air on the second floor was usable space on the third. Access to the upper story was via a staircase tucked away in the tower on the other side of the building. “I wonder if there’s a similar set of stairs in the tower on this side?” The stone wall that made up one corner of her room was clearly delineated on the map, the curve unbroken where it continued around through the guest room on the other side. “If so, this doesn’t show it. In fact, there doesn’t appear to be any way into the tower from this floor at all.” 

“The main floor is much too busy to be poking around on.” Aerith spoke without taking her eyes away from her screen. “Your best bet would be to go back to the third floor and see if there’s access there. Assuming Elena doesn’t notice you taking the same tour twice, or that you went missing partway through.”

“I could always say I was looking for the bathroom?”

Aerith shot her a sideways look. “The hotel isn’t that big, and you’re old enough to know you should go before leaving.”

Tifa frowned, chewing the inside of her bottom lip, before her expression turned impish. “What I really need is a bucket of ice.”

“What?” Lifting her gaze from the computer screen, Aerith looked askance at Tifa.

“I’m absolutely pining for a glass of ice water, aren’t you?” Putting her hands behind her back, Tifa cocked her head questioningly. “And maybe a snack from the vending machine.” 

Comprehension dawned and with it Aerith’s smile. “Do you think you might need some help carrying it back?”

“Won’t know until I see what they have. You should probably come just in case.”

Which was how they ended up ‘accidentally’ wandering the third floor, empty ice bucket from the minibar tucked in the crook of Aerith’s elbow. In accordance with fire and safety regulations, the door to the staircase was clearly marked and opened easily, the space beyond silent, well lit, and deserted. The floor above proved similarly empty, the tours for the day apparently finished. Unlike the stairwell, however, the space was completely dark, without even baseboard safety lighting. 

Abruptly, despite their excursion being her idea, Tifa found herself frozen in place as her fears assailed her again. Abandoned spaces, even ones surrounded by thousands of people, made ideal haunts. She and Aerith had learned that back in Midgar. The wards were also full of furniture that could be used to wall them off from one another, or as weapons to be hurled at them–both tactics the ghouls had employed. More than once, it was only a sharp jerk from Tifa’s hand around her wrist that had saved Aerith from being buried under crates, boxes, or wooden pallets. 

Drawing a deep breath, she tried to focus on calming her nerves and racing heart. There were no ghosts in the room with them. She knew for certain, because Aerith would have warned her. When this approach failed to have the desired effect, she instead tried the tactic that had worked the night before: she imagined she had Cloud there to protect her. Slowly, carefully, she built the image in her mind: Him, standing a few inches in front of her, right hand on the hilt of his sword, the left extended for her to take. Her, fingers of her right hand curved safely in his hold, while her left wrapped around his wrist. When they moved, she followed so close behind him the curves of her breasts brushed against his elbow. 

_It’s okay._ The words were calm and reassuring, his intonation soft enough only she could hear. Dipping her chin in acknowledgment, she opened her eyes to find Aerith watching her, hands raised in a prayerful pose.

“I’ve yet to find a single spirit,” she offered, giving Tifa an encouraging smile. 

“That’s good to know,” she answered, still clinging to Cloud’s hand. “I just... needed to get hold of myself. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Aerith shook her head. “I understand. Scared as you are, you came with me anyway. Take all the time you need.”

Cloud gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze, and between he and Aerith, Tifa felt the fear recede to a more manageable level. She took another deep breath, this one actually managing to calm the fine tremors running through her, and gave a much firmer nod. “I’m good. Let’s get this done.”

‘Getting it done’ proved ridiculously easy. Crossing the floor to ‘their’ side of the building, they found the curved walls and rough stone of the tower stood out here just as much as in Tifa’s room. The door was unlocked and opened to reveal nothing but a cluttered office, possibly the former nurse’s station. It was interesting due to the circular shape, but otherwise... anticlimactic.

“No stairs,” Tifa said. She couldn’t keep the disappointment from lacing her tone. 

“No stairs,” Aerith agreed. “It was a good idea, though.” She patted Tifa on the back in a consoling fashion. “Let’s get back to our room before someone finds us here.”

Their exit proved as unremarked as their entry, the stairwell and hallway still deserted. Tifa almost wished for someone to catch them, as then at least it would seem like the effort of snooping had been worthwhile. Instead, she’d terrorized herself for no reason, returning to their room no more enlightened than when they’d left it. Which was especially apparent when, after putting the ice bucket back in the minibar, Aerith went right back to composing her email to Reeve. 

Frustrated, Tifa collapsed in the other chair. “I guess I can see what information there is on the web?” The comment was part question, part offer. “It’s not like it can hurt, and surely someone has done a write up on this place.” Cuddling into herself, she pulled her legs up under her dress and her phone out of her pocket. Her earlier fear had left her feeling cold down to her bones. 

“You can check on Barret and Marlene, too.” Aerith’s tone and expression were faintly teasing, knowing how much of a worrier Tifa could be regarding her business. “See how Seventh Heaven is doing.”

“I’d like to,” Tifa said, thumbs flying over the virtual keyboard as she entered search terms, “but I don’t want Barret to think I don’t trust him.” It really wasn’t about trust. She trusted Barret as much as she trusted anyone, and knew he would do his absolute best. Unforseen circumstances had a tendency to happen, though, and they happened more frequently around people who had been drinking. “I’m trying to hold out until tomorrow.”

“Such fortitude!” Aerith’s bubbly reply earned an answering grin, before each became absorbed in her task.

“A new book on the Ghost Mansion just came out.” Tifa made the announcement after only a few minutes of searching. “When we go down for dinner, let’s stop at the gift shop. Maybe they’ll have copies.” 

Aerith nodded. “And I’m done explaining things to Reeve.” She closed the laptop with a snap, then stood and stretched before walking over to the wall of bookcases. “Shinra has always been big on self-promotion.” Which was truly putting it mildly. “I bet they have copies of any favorable press here, where guests can find it.” 

It took some time, but half an hour later she’d found multiple volumes devoted to the company. One on the SOLDIER project, its most prominent members, and its tragic end; another covering Shinra’s theories regarding the Cetra; and even one on the dismantling of the mako reactors, apparently spinning it as a voluntary action taken for the good of the planet. Scoffing under her breath, Aerith took her finds back to her chair and piled them on the ottoman. 

In her absence Tifa had turned the gas fireplace on, and was fast asleep under a throw from the bed. _I must have been more distracted than I realized._ Although light-footed, Tifa was no ninja, and yet Aerith had completely missed her moving around. _Unless it was a ghost, and whoever heard of a ghost that tucked people in?_

Exhaling a breathy laugh at the thought, she placed her hand on Tifa’s forehead to check for fever. It wasn’t like her to nap during the day. At her touch, cinnamon eyes opened just enough to give her a hazy glance. “Cold.”

Far from being feverish, the skin under her hand was chilly. “I hope you’re not getting sick.”

“I’m fine. Being scared takes a lot of energy.” Despite Tifa mumbling the words into her blanket, Aerith caught enough to understand.

“Go ahead and nap, then. I’ll wake you for dinner.” 

For the next few hours, she paged through the SOLDIER book while Tifa slept. Every once in awhile the sleeping woman would shift or sigh, at times even mumbling in her sleep. Aerith caught a complaint about something tickling, a happy ‘that feels nice’, and an emphatic ‘you smell _so_ good’. That last had her raising her eyebrows, even as she giggled and plotted to tease Tifa about it later. Neither of them had a boyfriend, so whatever she was dreaming came straight out of her imagination.

Around four-thirty, in the last few chapters of the book, she finally hit upon something potentially relevant. “Tifa! Tifa, wake up!”

“Hmmm?” Tifa blinked at her, eyes glassy.

“I think I’ve got something. Can you wake up enough to listen?”

Blinking again, Tifa tilted her head as if someone or something else were speaking to her, before slowly shifting to sit more upright. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m awake. Go on.”

Aerith eyed her skeptically, but when Tifa looked back, gaze clear, she nodded. “Strife and Fair were the last two SOLDIERS to develop the degradation sickness. In fact, according to this,” Aerith lifted the book for emphasis, “they never even showed signs of it. They were ordered to the hospital here as a precaution.”

“I thought degradation was a result of the Jenova cells in the SOLDIER formula? How could they not have symptoms?”

“And if they had no symptoms, how did they die from it less than a week later?”

That seemed to dispel any lingering drowsiness. “But degradation didn’t progress that quickly. Genesis was sick for _years_.” The first SOLDIER to develop the condition, Genesis had managed to hide it from Shinra for some months. He’d then hung on for another five years as their scientists poked and prodded him, supposedly in search of a cure.

“This book claims there were multiple versions of the SOLDIER formula, and that degradation took more than one form. Genesis showed both physical and mental symptoms, for example, whereas Sephiroth’s degradation was completely mental, the first and only sign being his psychotic break.”

“So Cloud’s degradation affected him mentally?” Tifa felt her eyes prick with unexpected tears, and she looked away, blinking rapidly, rather than let them fall. Imagining him as her protector had made him all the more real to her, the tragedy of his death in the prime of life all the more poignant.

“I didn’t say that, just that it was possible for them to have degradation and it not show physically. The book doesn’t say what, if any, symptoms manifested while they were here. Maybe Reeve can tell us.” Aerith pushed her hair back. “What I find more... interesting? Concerning? Curious?” She shook her head. “I’m not sure what word to use. But it strikes me as more _something_ that Cloud and Zack were the only SOLDIERS to receive the third and final serum. From _Project I_.”

It took Tifa a moment before her eyes widened and she sat forward in realization. “Project Ifalna?”

“That’s what I’m wondering. It follows the naming conventions of the other two: Project G for Gillian Hewley and Project S for Sephiroth. Planet knows they took enough samples from Mom.” Aerith’s tone was both sad and bitter. As a result of all Shinra had done to her, the various forms of scientific abuse, Ifalna had barely survived long enough to see her daughter nominally grown.

“Are you thinking there might be a connection between the serum and the lack of symptoms? Or between the serum and the Planet sending you here?”

 _Am I?_ Aerith took the time to consider. Really all she was thinking was that it was a piece to the puzzle. She didn’t know where it fit, just that it felt like it meant _something_. “I don’t think anything _yet_. Just that it’s probably important.”

Tifa nodded, then shivered. Huddling deeper into her blanket, she finally noticed the other books stacked on the ottoman. “Are those actually worth reading?”

The incredulity in her voice surprised a laugh out of Aerith. “I don’t know about being _worth it_ , but I want to look at them just for curiosity’s sake. There might, possibly, be some tiny granules of truth in them.”

“Granules, huh?” Humor sparked alight in the red-brown depths of Tifa’s eyes. “Not grains?”

Playing along, Aerith turned her nose up in a haughty manner. “Grains would be expecting far too much from Shinra.” 

“Truth. I can’t wait for the ranting which will no doubt ensue.” Tossing the blanet aside, Tifa began putting her shoes back on. “You about ready for dinner? I’m looking forward to something warming.”

“Yes! Food sounds great.”

As Tifa had suggested, they stopped at the gift shop on their way to the dining room. It proved far more productive than their excursion to the third floor, although that wasn’t saying much. The newly published book, detailing the building’s history and all of the supposed ‘ghost’ sightings, was indeed among the goods for sale. It was disappointingly slim and even more disappointingly priced, but Tifa grabbed a copy anyway.

Arriving to the restaurant earlier and far less tired than they’d been the previous night, both women took longer to peruse the menu and make their choices.

“Whoever designed their selections did so with a lot of consideration for people who’ve been spooked,” Aerith commented. “Once you get past the daily specials, it’s full of comfort foods from all over the world. Even a few from Wutai!” 

“I get the impression the restaurant here is pretty popular,” Tifa murmured. The dining room was far from empty, with more guests than the hotel could provide, and a waiting list that had the foyer crowded. “Besides, most comfort food recipes are hard to mess up.” _Even for Shinra_ , her tone implied. 

Later, when the dessert menu arrived, she expressed more enthusiasm. “They offer fifty different cocktails that are served warm! _Fifty_!”

“Is that a lot?” Aerith had seen Tifa excited over new bar recipes before, but at the moment she was looking wild-eyed.

“Seventh Heaven serves _six_.” They were typically only popular during the colder months, and most people were happy with variations on coffee or hot cocoa. Beyond that she also offered the traditional hot toddy, the whiskey skin, and hot buttered rum. Her sixth and final option was the blue blazer, something she’d included on the menu just for the flare of it. Literally, since the name was a reference to how the drink was set aflame during preparation. It had only been ordered once or twice in the five years she’d been in business, each time by one of the Turks. As if it were the height of clever to order one while wearing one.

“So... yes, it is a lot,” Aerith said with some amusement. 

Tifa made a face at her above the menu. “Yes, although it really depends on how many are just variations on adding a splash of alcohol to a typical hot drink. Some of these are, but a lot of them aren’t. This one,” and she turned the menu so Aerith could see the item she was tapping with her fingernail, “is a completely different type of toddy. Strictly speaking, it’s _not_ a toddy because it doesn’t contain whiskey.” Her finger skipped down a few items. “This one sounds like a mulled white wine.”

“ _White_ wine? Don’t you usually use red for mulling?”

“Usually.” Tifa continued to read through the menu. “They have that, too, though, including wassail and the entire range of smoking clergy.” She flipped the page. “Here’s a variety of different types of punch, from egg nog to clarified milk to Wutaian cinnamon. Spiking that last with applejack is definitely different.” Grinning, she turned to Aerith. “Want to try a couple?”

Given this was the happiest and most relaxed Tifa had been since they’d arrived, Aerith would have said yes even if the idea didn’t seem like a good one. “Maybe it’ll help me sleep tonight,” she said, nodding. “Pick something you think I’ll like, but that you want to taste.”

“You’re the best!” Holding her arms out, hands opening and closing in a ‘come here’ gesture, Tifa waited until a laughing Aerith gave in to the urging and accepted the offered hug. “Let’s see if we can get them as room service.” 

“Sounds good.” Settling with her head on Tifa’s shoulder, Aerith watched as she continued to look over the menu in front of them. “That way we’ll have time to get ready for bed before they arrive.”

An hour later they were both warm and cozy in their nightclothes and plush hotel robes, sitting in front of the fire in Tifa’s room. Where Aerith had opted to use the provided hair dryer, Tifa was letting her hair air dry. Something about running a comb through it in long, lazy strokes, in watching the play of firelight along the black strands, was soothing. 

A brisk knock announced the arrival of their nightcaps, and Aerith stood to answer the door. After a few moments of soft conversation, she returned with a footed toddy mug and a double-walled glass coffee cup. One in each hand, she held them out for inspection. 

“I’m guessing this is that Wutaian cinnamon punch,” she said, gesturing with the coffee cup. It gave off a strong but sweet cinnamon aroma. 

“Should be.” Tifa put the comb in her lap and reached to take the drink. “Mom used to make it every fall and winter.” Her voice was soft and ever so slightly wistful. “I haven’t had it in years, so here’s hoping Shinra didn’t botch it.” Nostalgia had a soothing effect all it’s own. That combined with the alcohol and the warmth of the drink itself, should help fend off her fears and allow her to sleep. Cautiously taking a sip, she closed her eyes and rolled the flavor around in her mouth.

“Good?” Hands cupped around the toddy mug, Aerith watched as a small smile curved Tifa’s lips.

“Yes. Better than I’d hoped for, really. The applejack is a nice complement, too.” Opening her eyes, she nodded at the mug in Aerith’s hands. “Yours is that mulled white wine I pointed out earlier.” 

Retaking her seat in front of the fire, she savored the steam curling up from the rim. “It smells divine.” The drink was a rich, buttery lemon yellow in color, with a light citrus scent.

“But how does it taste?” Eyes bright, Tifa leaned forward in her perch on the ottoman.

“Aren’t you pushy,” Aerith teased, pretending to hold the mug out of Tifa’s reach.

“Guilty as charged.” Unrepentant, Tifa gestured for Aerith to hurry up. “Now taste it! Taste it!”

Clearing her throat and holding her pinky out pretentiously, Aerith took a delicate sip. “Oh, my.” Dropping the affectation, she took a deeper drink. “That’s _really_ nice.”

“I’m glad.” Tifa watched her expectantly, sipping her punch. Aerith taste testing was a frequent occurrence.

“I’m not sure how to describe it. Sweet but citrusy? With just a hint of mint?” Taking another swallow she held the mug out to Tifa. “Here, you try.”

“Let’s trade,” Tifa said, suiting actions to words. “But be careful to just sip it. The cinnamon taste might be too strong for you.” Much as she loved it herself, she was aware it was an acquired taste.

The white wine was milder than a similarly prepared red, which let the honey and citrus tastes take prominence. It was a good fit for a toddy, particularly for someone getting or getting over a cold. “You’re right, this is good. Light and soothing.”

“You’re right, too. About this being too strong, I mean.” Aerith passed the punch back and reclaimed her toddy. “I like cinnamon, but not _that_ much.”

“Mmm. I thought the blend of citrus and warm white wine would be more your thing.” 

“And you thought right. Cheers!” When Aerith held her mug out, Tifa obligingly clinked her cup against it before returning to her two-handed hold, breathing in the sweet cinnamon steam. 

Neither was in any particular rush, so they nursed their drinks as long as possible, letting the warmth and the alcohol slowly relax them. Tifa’s hair was dry and she’d shifted from the ottoman to the other wingback chair before either of them finished.

“I think that’s it for me,” Aerith said around a yawn. Her eyelids were heavy, promising sleep would come quick and easy. “I’ll see you in the morning. Have a good night.”

Aerith’s yawning set off a similar chain reaction in Tifa, garbling her response as she disappeared through the connecting door. Sleep was fast sneaking up on her as the applejack did its work. As she’d hoped, in her comfortable, drowsy state, the room didn’t seem anywhere near as frightening as it had the night before. 

She didn’t realize she’d dozed off until Cloud appeared, kneeling next to her chair. “It’s late,” he said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” Muscles in his arms and shoulders shifted with fluid ease as he picked her up, her head naturally nestling in the hollow of his shoulder. As he carried her across the room, her arms made their way around his neck of their own volition, clinging persistently when he set her down on the bed.

“Stay.” At her whisper he smiled, his hands wrapping around her wrists to gently loosen her grip. 

“I’ll make sure you’re safe,” he promised. “You should sleep.”

“So should you.” Fingers clenching in his uniform, she tugged. “Don’t go, Cloud.” Secure in the knowledge that this was a dream, and bold in a way she’d never be while awake, Tifa stretched to skim her lips along his jaw. “I’ll sleep better in your arms than I would alone.” Safer. Warmer. Deeper. Even though he was a figment of her imagination. 

Still he hesitated, those mako eyes seeming to peer into her soul. Under his steady gaze she flushed, her normal reticence resurfacing. How deep did her insecurities run if the fantasy man concocted by her own imagination was clearly considering rejecting her? Fixing her gaze on the front of his shirt, she smoothed the fabric out, tracing the knit with her index finger. “If you don’t want to,” she began, only to be interrupted by his deep, soothing voice.

“I want to.” Although the words were mild, his delivery gave the impression that they were intensely felt. “As long as you’re sure.” His gloved fingers twined with her fidgeting ones, blond brows arched in question.

At her wordless sound of agreement, she received another flash of his sweet, almost shy smile in return. 

“Let me get the lights then, and I’ll be right back.” Giving her fingers another brief squeeze, he moved to do just that, leaving her to remove her robe and slip under the covers. When he returned, she snuggled against him without hesitation. 

“Good night, Cloud.” The words were soft, practically breathed into the fabric covering his chest.

“Good night, Tifa.” His equally soft, husky response made her smile, the arm she had draped across his stomach tightening in a brief hug.

She drifted off to the feel of him gently nuzzling the top of her head, and the butterfly brush of his lips against her temple.

_I wish you were real._

_I wish you were truly mine._

* * *

Tifa awoke to the bright chatter of Aerith’s voice as she talked on the phone. Not that she was particularly loud, but she’d decided to have the conversation while sitting right beside Tifa’s sleeping self, making it much harder to ignore. 

“Anything you can give us is likely to be helpful,” she was saying when Tifa opened her eyes. Upon seeing she was awake, Aerith jerked her thumb upward, a gesture that surely was meant either as a favorable review of her sleeping technique, or an encouragement to get out of bed. Probably the latter.

Sighing, Tifa threw the covers back and sat up, only to freeze in sudden realization: After Aerith left the night before, she’d fallen asleep in the chair by the fire. She’d never made it to bed. True, she’d had an unusually vivid dream about Cloud tucking her in, most likely due to the applejack–it had a notoriously high alcohol content. Combined with the time she’d spent building her boyfriend fantasy, her subconscious had plenty to work with when crafting the dream. Had she walked in her sleep, acting it out while under the influence? 

“Thank you, Reeve. Talk to you later.” Ending her call, Aerith turned her concerned gaze on Tifa, who’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into space, for several minutes. “Tifa? Is something wrong?”

She jumped, just a bit, then shook her head. “Not... really?” Fingers splayed, she scraped the hair off her forehead and away from her face. “I don’t remember coming to bed last night.” The admission was more than a little sheepish.

“Oh hoh!” Exclaiming in delight, Aerith nudged Tifa with her elbow. “That applejack must have been strong!”

“I guess so?” It was the only reasonable explanation, no matter how off it felt, or how contrary to her usual high tolerance.

“Looks like today you’re the one in need of coffee. Up you get!” Standing, she hauled Tifa up with her. “Get dressed and we can go down to breakfast. I’ll tell you about my call with Reeve while we eat.”

Coffee sounded incredible, so she let herself be nudged in the direction of the bathroom and her clothing. Without the shield of the bedding, Shinra’s mood-setting efforts ensured the air was cold against her skin, the mild discomfort helping to dispel her lingering drowsiness. It was also the reason she chose an oversized, plush black sweater dress from the clothing she’d packed. It made her feel cozy just looking at it. 

After brushing her teeth and dressing, Tifa surveyed herself in the mirror as she gathered her hair on top of her head in a messy knot. “This dress definitely doesn’t do me any favors,” she muttered, turning away in search of her shoes. It was baggy and shapeless, the thick fabric seeming to flatten her curves. But what it lacked in style it made up for in sheer comfort.

_You’re adorable no matter what you wear._

Looked up from tying her shoes as the words whispered past her ear, she found Aerith smirking at her. “What?”

“You’re very... _fluffy_... today.” 

It was on the tip of her tongue to retort that Cloud thought she was adorable. _My imagination is working overtime,_ Tifa thought as she caught herself. Instead, she huffed in feigned annoyance. “You drag me to a haunted house, you get my comfort clothes.” One hand on her hip, she pointed the other at Aerith. “Don’t think I don’t recognize your version of the same. Did you bring anything to wear that wasn’t pink or corduroy?”

Aerith’s shirtdress was indeed both of those things. “Corduroy is ideal for late autumn and winter weather.” 

“And?” Tifa arched one slender brow expectantly.

Aerith stared back innocently until Tifa folded her arms. “Fine.” Although she tried to sound petulant, laughter sparkled in her green eyes and flirted with her lips. “ _And_ I have a nostalgic fondness for it. It’s warm and comforting and homey.”

“Hah!” Tifa bounced on her toes a few times in childish triumph, before holding her arm out in an invitation for Aerith to touch her sleeve. “Tell me this doesn’t feel like it was made out of one of those lovely high-pile blankets.” 

Humoring her, Aerith pinched the fabric between her index finger and thumb, then bent and snuggled her face against Tifa’s shoulder, causing her to burst out laughing. 

“See? It’s warm and comforting and homey.” 

Straightening, Aerith stuck her tongue out at the deliberate reuse of her words. “That doesn’t change the fact that it’s also very _fluffy_.”

“You’re just jealous that I’m comfortable and don’t sound like I’m shushing everyone as I walk.” Taking a few steps toward the door, Tifa paused and brought her finger to her lips: “Shush!” She repeated this routine two more times before a giggling Aerith grabbed her hand.

“Stop it, you!” Opening the door Aerith turned and winked. “You love my fashion taste and we both know it.”

“Hmmmm.” When this noncommittal response garnered a narrow-eyed stare, Tifa grinned. Closing the door behind them, she followed Aerith down the hall toward the main staircase. “How did you sleep last night?”

“Better. No headache this morning, and I think that second set of impressions makes a bit more sense? Maybe?” Aerith’s pace slowed as she considered, and in a practiced motion Tifa linked their arms to keep her moving. “I think the pain was a side-effect, not the intention. Like relocating a dislocated arm, or having surgery to remove a tumor.”

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Tifa directed them toward the hostess station. “Something the Planet felt had to be done, but the cure felt worse than the affliction?” 

“Right.” As they were greeted by the hostess, Aerith dropped the subject, picking it up again once they were seated and left to look over the menu. “Whatever the Planet did, it worked. Hence the feeling of smugness.” And the immensity of the feeling; nobody radiated self-satisfaction the way the Planet could. “I don’t understand the fear and hatred, though, or the impression of being lost.”

“But you _do_ think the two sequences are related?” Although the menu was open in front of her, Tifa wasn’t really seeing it, merely staring while lost in thought. Aerith tapped hers against Tifa’s to get her attention as a ginger haired server came up to their table.

“Would you like coffee this morning?” she asked, gesturing with the pot in her hand. Both Aerith and Tifa eagerly righted their cups in answer, and the server–Cissnei, according to her name tag–laughed as she filled them. “And are you ready to order?” Their answer was another emphatic yes, and the server soon bustled away, two requests for the day’s special jotted down on her order pad. 

“I do think they’re related,” Aerith said once Cissnei was out of earshot. “Especially since the second follows so closely after the first.”

“Then, could the hatred and fear be the Planet’s reaction to the Jenova cells in the SOLDIERS?” 

Closing her eyes, Aerith tried to recall her exact impressions. As a matter of habit, her hands came together in a prayerful pose, even as a furrow grew between her brows. “No,” she said at last. “If the emotions belonged to the Planet, they would be... bigger. For lack of a better word.” Opening her eyes, she shrugged. “I think maybe...” she caught her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment as she thought, “I think maybe it’s the _SOLDIERs_ emotions I’m feeling.”

“But that’s not possible.” Their long acquaintance meant Tifa was well versed in Aerith’s abilities. While her connection to the planet was a combination of empathic and telepathic, she’d never been able to ‘read’ a human before, for all that she was a good judge of character. “Is it?”

Slowly shaking her head, Aerith reached for her coffee cup. “It shouldn’t be. But I don’t have any other explanation.” Just a slowly growing collection of puzzle pieces with no idea how to fit them together. With a sigh, she finished her coffee and returned the cup to its saucer. “Anyway... I said I’d tell you about my talk with Reeve.”

“I take it he got your email?”

“And had already started looking into it.” Spotting Cissnei heading their way with a loaded tray, Aerith gestured with one hand to warn Tifa, their conversation subsiding before the server reached their table.

“Two orders of poor soldiers topped with whipped cream and syrup, bacon on the side.” Manner brisk but friendly, Cissnei set the plates in front of them. “I’ll be back to refresh your coffee in just a few minutes.”

Once their cups and been refilled and they’d begun eating, Aerith picked up where she’d left off. “Reeve’s time with the WRO didn’t start until after the hospital closed, so he doesn’t have any firsthand information for us. He’s going to have to go digging.” She paused to take a bite, savoring the combination of maple, cinnamon, and vanilla. “However, he did say any investigation of this place wouldn’t have happened until _after_ Mom and I won our case against Shinra.”

“Which would be after the hospital closed.”

Aerith nodded. “That doesn’t mean there isn’t any dirt to find, just that Shinra already had a solid head start in burying it.” 

Tifa dragged her fork through a piped spiral of whipped cream, spreading it over the fried bread beneath. “A complete lack of survivors helps with that. No survivors means no witnesses.”

“But there should be records, and the WRO has those.” The organization had seized everything during the dismantling. “Simply finding out who was in charge of the hospital at the end could tell us a lot about what kind of ‘science’ was happening here.” There was a wealth of scorn in her comment; what had passed as scientific research in the company could more accurately be described as a combination of torture and blind luck.

“Are you thinking maybe Hojo...?” Tifa trailed off, face twisting at the thought of Shinra’s head scientist. After holding Ifalna and Aerith prisoner in order to conduct his sick, sadistic ‘experiments’, Hojo had disappeared from Midgar before he could be tried in court.

“It would fit, wouldn’t it?” Appetite gone, Aerith shoved her half-empty plate away and leaned back in her chair. “It explains where he went and why there were no survivors. Any project _he_ was involved with was guaranteed to have a highly inflated death toll.”

“Explains why there might be someone or something in need of rescue, too,” Tifa agreed. The dark humor behind the breakfast special’s name hit hard, and she, too, shoved her plate away. _Poor SOLDIERs, indeed._ Shivering, she curled her hands around her coffee mug. “Did Reeve give you a time frame on when he might have something for us?”

“No, but you know he’s going to move quickly, seeing as it’s for the Planet.” Reeve always treated her concerns seriously.

“By dinner then?” This deliberately optimistic estimate earned Tifa the shadow of a smile, but neither felt much like bantering. The next time Cissnei came by, they paid the check and returned to their rooms.

“Why don’t you get those books you found yesterday and come over?” Tifa suggested. Her room had better lighting for a day spent reading. “I was thinking I’d read through the one I bought last night, see if I can find anything useful.”

Since it was really the only lead they had, Aerith agreed. “I’ll start with the one on the Cetra. Maybe it’ll be good for a laugh before I go back to the one on SOLDIER.”

The room was quiet as they read, the silence underscored by the soft ruffling of pages and punctuated at uneven intervals by Aerith’s incredulous comments. Afternoon arrived before either took a break. “It hardly seems possible, but Shinra’s understanding of the Cetra was even worse than I thought.” Aerith put the volume aside with distaste. “They would start out somewhere close to reality, then theorize their way to a fantasy land. _Every. Single. Time._ ”

Tifa gave her an amused glance, as her outbursts had been many and pointed. “You mean the Cetra couldn’t fly? Spin materia out of lifestream like making thread out of wool? Be two places at once? Keep Leviathan as a pet?” That last had been her favorite. 

“Not even fluffy, adorable Carbuncle will be my lap summon. Where, oh where, did I go wrong?” Dramatically holding her hand to her forehead, Aerith pretended to swoon into her chair, before opening one sparkling eye to peer at Tifa. 

“I think you’ve been spending too much time with Jessie. She’d be proud.” 

“Why, thank you.” With a mock bow, Aerith stood and stretched before walking over to the window to further loosen up after sitting still for so long. “How about you? Have you found anything?”

“Not as much as I’d like. There’s a supposedly complete list of all the SOLDIERs who died here, that might be useful to Reeve.” It was more than the list of Firsts they’d already sent him, at any rate. “Then there’s a timeline of hauntings and a chart of where they happened. That’s probably the most informative thing in the whole book.” Bracing her elbow on the arm of the chair, Tifa twisted around to face the window. “Looks like my guess was right.” 

“Oh?” Propping her hip against the windowsill, Aerith took in Tifa’s rather sour expression. “Which guess?”

“That the Planet told you to book the most haunted rooms in the hotel.” 

“What, really?” Surprised, she returned to lean over the back of Tifa’s chair and read over her shoulder. The book was open to a chart linking specific types of ‘ghostly’ phenomena to the different areas of the building, and there were quite a few more tick marks next to the Strife and Fair rooms than any of the others.

“They’re really trying to hype up the haunted angle, so everything that happens–even if it could have a mundane explanation–is attributed to ghosts.” Tifa shifted, angling her head until she could see Aerith’s expression. “There haven’t been any apparitions spotted in these rooms, but together they account for more than fifty percent of the other recorded activity.”

“Like... things moving on their own?” Weight braced on her forearms, Aerith tapped the toe of her shoe against the floor as she thought. “That might be a spirit. They don’t have to be visible to move things.” 

Biting her tongue against the urge to say something sarcastic, Tifa swallowed her pique and turned back to the book. “Yes, I _know_. I suppose the important thing is that, for all the activity, nobody has ever been hurt.” Scared, certainly, but never harmed. “In fact, it seems like maybe you were right, too.” 

“I love being right!” Clapping her hands, Aerith spun around to sit on the edge of the ottoman facing Tifa. “What am I right about?”

Humor returning in the face of these antics, Tifa rolled her eyes. “Do you remember saying nothing would hurt me while Cloud Strife was on duty?” At Aerith’s nod she pointed at the book in her lap. “According to this, at least a handful of the incidents in this room involve the ghost,” emphasized with a pointed glance, “intervening in potentially dangerous situations.” When the only response this received was a questioning head tilt, she continued: “One man was thrown out of the room and down the hall while arguing with his wife. The woman said she thought her husband was going to hit her. Another instance involved a suicide attempt that was averted when management came to investigate a noise complaint.” A slight smile teased her mouth. “Given that this place _thrives_ on strange noises, that had to be one _heck_ of a racket.”

“I’ll bet!” Elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, Aerith leaned forward, all eagerness. “What else did our friendly, protective ghost do?”

Thumbing the pages, Tifa scanned the incident summaries. “More of the same, really. Broke up a few more fights, foiled an attempted robbery when someone tried to break in through the connecting door. And it found a lost child–or at least that’s the way this tells it.”

“Seems like a _very_ friendly ghost.” 

“Maybe. Remember, though, even if something has a mundane explanation, the book will ignore it in order to cry ghost. In this case, the ghost is given credit for finding the boy because the door was open. That’s it.” She shrugged one shoulder. “But the room wasn’t occupied at the time, and the story never addresses how the boy got inside. Maybe the door was just unlatched, allowing both him and his parents to wander in, no ghost necessary. A lot of the accounts are like that. They have to be taken with a grain of salt, if not a whole handful.” They exchanged a knowing look, both women well acquainted with Shinra’s tendency to spin things. “There’s a whole chapter devoted to stories about the power going out and flickering and how spooky it was, but when I checked the dates on my phone, they all coincided to the Nibel reactor being taken offline. Of course things were in flux and less than stable when _the entire town_ was getting switched over to alternative energy sources!”

Tifa’s tone was so disgusted–whether at the gullibility on display or Shinra’s shamelessness–that Aerith burst out laughing. “What made you check the dates?” she asked, once she had breath to speak. 

“The timing. The hotel was in operation for years both before and after that interval with no electrical issues at all.” Tifa blew her breath out in an annoyed huff. “Once the spirits haunting this place realized they could scare people simply by turning the lights out, they’d be doing it constantly.”

“I’m not even sure it’s something they do deliberately,” Aerith said, tone thoughtful, “and not simply something that happens whenever they manifest. Which would make it happen every time there was any sort of haunting here.” Bracing her palms on her knees, she sat up straighter. “What about the apparitions you mentioned? There have never been any in these two rooms?”

“Nope.” Popping the p as she shook her head, Tifa flipped a few pages in the book. “And the only ones to be reported by guests happened during the power outages.” Skepticism was rife in her tone. “It’s a confusing mix of things that are inexplicable unless the place is haunted, and a bunch of other things that sound like obvious hoaxes. Including the fact that the apparitions are recognizable as people. I couldn’t see them in the train graveyard without your intervention. Otherwise they were cliché, sheet-draped blobs.”

“And if they’re here, why haven’t I seen or detected anything ghostly at all?” With a sigh, Aerith stood, propping one elbow in the cup of the other hand as she paced in thought. “What if,” she said, “we tried to contact the spirit in this room. If it’s so protective, it must be here and aware, right?” Enthusiasm crept into her voice with every word she spoke.

“According to the stories in this book.” Tifa waved it for emphasis, leaning heavily on the word _stories_ to make her feelings clear. “Based on those, you think we should ignore the fact you can’t sense anything, and try.. what? A seance or something?”

“Why not? So what if it looks or seems silly, we’re the only ones who’ll ever know. And we don’t need a seance,” Aerith added as an afterthought. “I was thinking we could just... ask our questions of the room at large.”

Mouth open, Tifa stared at her. “Just... ask the room.” 

“Why not?” Aerith repeated, frowning back. “What can it hurt?”

 _We could make it angry, for a start._ Which, while true, wasn’t the reason her heart was racing. No, the heavy hammering was because not knowing offered its own obscure form of protection. The idea that there was something here they couldn’t see, that even a Cetra couldn’t sense, was frightening. But without proof, she could tell herself that’s all it was: an idea, a supposition, a tale told to attract tourists. Proof would make it real. 

Proof might also reveal that Cloud– _her_ Cloud–wasn’t merely a product of her imagination.

_But we came here for a reason, and if this will give us the answers we need..._

Licking her lips, she pressed herself back in the chair, appreciating the sense of shelter the high back and sides offered. “All right. Give it a try.” Her voice was strained, the effort to sound encouraging obvious.

“You sure?” Green eyes dark and concerned, Aerith returned to her perch on the ottoman and leaned in to take one of Tifa’s hands between hers. 

“Not at all.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “But you are, so... go ahead.”

“Okay.” After a brief hesitation, Aerith lifted her chin and spoke, her voice hesitant but growing firmer. “Hello? If you’re there, we have a few questions to ask.” She paused, but no response was forthcoming. “If you can’t talk, please knock once for yes, twice for no.”

“Aerith!” Tifa’s utterance of her name broke it into its component syllables for emphasis, her expression dumbfounded. 

“What? It’s a tried-and-true formula.” And if Tifa was distracted, scandalized by her flippancy, maybe she wouldn’t be so scared. Another tried-and-true formula, if a more personal one.

Covering her face with the book, Tifa tapped it lightly against her forehead in vexation. The situation felt like she’d brought a man over to meet her bestie, only for said friend to embarrass her deliberately. Except it was so much more absurd than that, given the man was either a figment of her imagination or a ghost. A rush of amusement so like the one she’d felt the night they arrived danced over her skin, inviting her to laugh with him. She suppressed it, unsure if she’d be able to stop once she started.

Clearing her throat, Aerith briefly pondered where to start with the questions, and then decided to just go for broke. “Was Hojo in charge of the patients here? Is he responsible for what happened to you?” It was their best guess, after all. Why not ask for confirmation?

Beside her, Tifa gasped, her grip tightening around Aerith’s fingers and the book tumbling to the floor. “I think that’s a yes,” she said, voice tremulous and barely audible. Carmine eyes found emerald green and then widened at the incomprehension she saw there. “You don’t feel it.”

Aerith shook her head. “Feel what?” The room was empty except for them, even when she searched with that _other_ sense.

“Anger,” Tifa gasped out, free hand white on the arm of her chair. “Anger and hatred.” There were other emotions, too, a tangle of them–shock, betrayal, disgust, fear–but all were subsumed by the harsh and encompassing rush of fury and hostility. The difference between this and the faint impressions she’d convinced herself were her imagination was stark. No longer a nebulous echo of her thoughts, this was a crashing flood, swamping her until the emotions were nearly indistinguishable from her own. Blossoming hot in her chest and the pit of her stomach like the burn of strong alcohol, filling her with a fierce, intense desire to cut the scientist down. He was as monstrous as the experiments she’d so often been sent to end, and infinitely more deserving. 

_I won’t let him hurt you._

Cloud’s voice rang in her head, the words crystal clear. Her jaw tightened in an echo of his determination, her hand reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there, fist clenching in frustration at the lack.

_**I won’t let him hurt you.** _

“Tifa? Tifa! What’s happening?! Tifa?!” Even as Aerith’s voice rose, it seemed to be coming from further and further away. So, too, the feel of the chair at her back, the press of Aerith’s hands on hers. 

Caught in the maelstrom of Cloud’s emotions, Tifa was helpless to respond. This was both better and worse than possession: better, because it wasn’t deliberate or malicious; worse, because it was uncontrolled. Frantic, she reached out the way she had before, knowing now the connection was real, not imagined. _Stop, Cloud! You’re scaring me!_

As instantly as if she’d doused him in ice water, the anger faded. Shock, then guilt-tinged regret surged in its place. _It’s not your fault,_ she hastened to assure him. At base, the torrent of emotion had been fueled by a desperate desire to protect and defend. Knowing what she did of Hojo’s abuses, she would never fault him for that. _Just... wait until there’s something to defend against._ The thought was filled with wry humor; when she felt his answering echo, she smiled and opened her eyes.

Aerith’s face was mere inches from hers, expression concerned. Tifa blinked, and the concern shifted to relief. Moving slowly and deliberately, Aerith sat back and folded her arms. “What was that?” she asked, brows lowered and tone stern. Before Tifa could open her mouth, she held up a finger and wagged it scoldingly. “The truth. Since I get the distinct impression you know more about whatever is happening here than you’ve let on.” 

Slumping, Tifa nodded. “Cloud? Could you leave us alone for a bit?” Explaining was going to be embarrassing; having him as an audience–unseen or not–would just make it worse. 

Agreement tingled along her skin, then a single, sharp knock on the front of the armoire made both women jump. 

“That’s not funny!” Aerith exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest. As if to emphasize exactly how much he disagreed, Cloud knocked again. Eyes narrowing in annoyance, she whipped her arm up to point at the wall. “Go already!” 

Tifa felt another strong surge of amusement, and then he was gone. His absence left her feeling cold again, and she wrapped her arms around herself for comfort. 

“He left,” she said, and found herself pinned by Aerith’s gaze. 

“Let’s hear it, then.” There was no humor or mischief in Aerith’s voice now, a clear indication of just how much Tifa’s episode had frightened her.

For a moment Tifa fidgeted, fingers clenching and unclenching in the sleeves of her dress before reluctantly beginning her explanation. “The first night we were here, I couldn’t sleep. I kept starting awake at every noise, and thinking that the shadows were going to attack me.” Cheeks turning pink, she dropped her gaze and curled herself tighter. “Then I remembered what you said about Cloud, and decided to give it a shot.”

Perplexed, Aerith tilted her head, brows lowering. “Give what a shot?”

Sighing, Tifa closed her eyes. “Pretending he was here, protecting me.” 

There was a long pause. “Did it work?” The question was rife with curiosity, but lacking in bite.

Unsure whether that was a good or bad sign, Tifa nodded, then swallowed. “It worked so well I did it again when we went up to the third floor to snoop.” Her fingers found the loose fabric at her sides, knotting there unseen. “I thought it was just my imagination, you know? If it can run away from me creating monsters, why shouldn’t it be able to do the opposite?” Except those monsters were never realized the way Cloud had been. Rueful, she hung her head. “There were a couple of other times, too, where I thought I was just dreaming.”

“Yesterday, when you took a nap in my room,” Aerith mused aloud. “He turned on the fire and brought you a blanket. Right? And last night–you don’t remember coming to bed because you fell asleep by the fire. Did you dream he carried you there?”

Opening her eyes, she found Aerith sitting with her chin propped in her hand, watching her. “Yes. In my dreams he’s as real as you or I. Real enough to touch. On the third floor, he was real enough I could hold his hand.”

Tilting her head slightly, Aerith assessed her. “You know, holding hands and carrying people to bed aren’t really things SOLDIERS are known for.”

Less than a question but more than a statement, the observation hung in the air between them like a conversational blockade. Several long minutes passed while Tifa tried to decide between ignoring it or addressing it, before finally the silence grew to be too much.

“Planet, this is embarrassing,” she muttered, mostly to herself, before scrubbing her hands over her face. “When dreaming up my imaginary protector, I made him my boyfriend.” Admitting it had her blushing again, brighter than before, color extending across her face and down her throat. “It’s a _haunted house!_ Is there really any wonder why I wanted a strong shoulder to hide in? To be cuddled and coddled, even if it was only in my head?” Folding her arms across her chest, she glowered at Aerith.

Who, lips twitching, broke out laughing. In the blink of an eye, her stony expression was replaced with one of pure delight. 

Irked, Tifa rolled her eyes. “Yes, I have a ghost boyfriend. Very funny.” Except it wasn’t, at all. She bit her lip to halt its sudden tremble.

To her surprise, Aerith shook her head. “Cuddles!” she gasped out. “You made friends with a ghost because you wanted _cuddles_!” Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against the cross made by Tifa’s folded arms. “That is the most _you_ thing.” Anyone who knew Tifa knew she was tactile. Touching was something she used to show affection, something she needed to receive to feel safe. 

Aerith’s amusement took a long time to subside. When her shoulders stopped shaking and the giggles subsided, her arms had found their way around Tifa’s waist, and Tifa’s around her shoulders. Cuddling. She smiled, and Tifa felt it. 

“It wasn’t just for cuddles,” she murmured into the companionable silence, her voice just a touch sullen.

“I know,” Aerith answered, hers carrying a thread of apology. “But you are so sweet. If he’d asked _you_ for cuddles, you would have given them.” She shrugged. “Maybe he did, and you just didn’t realize it.”

Since they were clearly connected, somehow, on an emotional level, it was possible. Tifa thought there was more to it than that, though. “He only ever interacted with guests if someone was in trouble. I think he responded because I was so scared. He seems to need to protect others like I need touch.” When Aerith started giggling again, Tifa pinched her. “Stop it.”

“I’ll try,” Aerith said, sitting up straight, “but no promises.”

“Please.” Tifa’s expression was far more serious than Aerith’s. “I thought he was perfect because I made him up. My dream man.” Sniffing, she closed her eyes for a moment, fighting back useless tears. “But we only met because Hojo stole his life from him.” Head bowed, her hands fisted in the material of her dress, drawing it tight over her thighs. “I didn’t think I could hate that man more than I already did, for the things he did to you and Ifalna. But he’s like a monstrous, bottomless pit, endlessly disgorging horror.”

“What exactly happened earlier?” Aerith’s eyes were worried again, her brow furrowed. “He–Cloud–was angry, you said. And then... it looked like he possessed you.”

“No!” Tifa slashed her hand to the side in emphatic negation. “It was more like... a feedback loop. His emotions were so intense I couldn’t separate them from mine.” 

“You can feel his emotions?” If anything, this revelation made Aerith more alarmed, not less.

“Yes? Sometimes?” How could she explain something she didn’t understand? “I think only when he loses control or is surprised. The first time, I was talking to myself and it startled a laugh out of him.”

“That was the night we arrived, when you thought you were being watched?”

Tifa nodded. “And then today, when you mentioned Hojo...” her voice trailed off as she shuddered. “I think Cloud may actually hate him more than either of us. But it was like he’d forgotten. Or,” she paused, considering, “maybe it’s more like when you deliberately avoid thinking about something because of how it makes you feel.”

“And then someone brings it up and all the time you’ve spent ignoring it is wasted.” There were a number of things in Aerith’s life, particularly her childhood, that could trigger such a reaction. “It’s as fresh as if it just happened.” 

“Exactly. And Cloud... his first reaction to remembering Hojo existed, and how much he hated the bastard, was a fierce desire to _end_ him.” Her cinnamon gaze met Aerith’s leaf green, read understanding burgeoning within. Tifa would unleash her limit break on the man in a heartbeat; that total accord likely made it harder to differentiate whose emotions were whose.

“Ghosts are stuck in a kind of limbo. It’s not a loop, not exactly. More... more a phase.” Closing her eyes, Aerith brought her hands together as if in prayer, something she did when listening to the Planet. “They’re drawn to finish or repeat whatever they were doing when they died, even if it’s something unimportant. I... don’t think they _have_ to, but they’re _predisposed_ to.” Opening her eyes, she dropped her hands into her lap. “The ones in the train graveyard wanted to play hide-and-seek.” 

“Are you thinking Cloud died trying to stop Hojo? Or trying to protect someone?” It was painful for Tifa to contemplate.

“With the limited evidence we have, it seems likely. Either way, I don’t think he’s a danger to us. He’s definitely not a danger to _you_.” Aerith winked. “He seems as attached to you as you are to him.”

“Oh, Aerith,” abruptly, Tifa felt like crying again. “What do I do?”

“About Cloud? Well, if it were me...” Aerith tilted her head, bringing her hand to her face in the traditional thinking pose, before breaking into a brilliant smile. “I’d go for it.” 

“What?” That... was in no respect what she’d been expecting. “Go for it?”

“You were enjoying his company when you didn’t know he was a ghost, right? And he’s been enjoying yours.” When Tifa nodded hesitantly, Aerith smiled again. “I figure, if anyone deserves a last fling, it’s a guy who died trying to stop that cretinous excuse for a scientist. And you,” she directed a pointed glance Tifa’s way, “are in desperate need of a _first_ fling.” She spread her hands as if this logic was both impeccable and obvious. “Who better to indulge with than someone who, by your own admittance, is your dream man?”

“He’s a person, Aerith!”

“I know.” She nodded, gaze gentle. “When we leave here, I’m hoping he’ll be at rest. But either way, how is he worse off if you let yourself enjoy the time you have? If you let him play the role he’s already accepted, and shower him with affection in return? Because I know you, and I know you will. Any guy would be lucky to spend time with you, Tifa Lockhart. _Any_ guy.”

Tifa swallowed, eyes pricking. “And me? Will I be better off?” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.

Aerith left the ottoman to squish into the chair next to her, warm and comforting. “Isn’t the real question whether you’ll be better off if you don’t?” Wrapping her arms around Tifa she rested her forehead against her temple, hugging her tight. “I don’t think you will be. I think you’re already going to mourn him no matter what you do. So don’t throw away the time you have.” 

* * *

It was late, and Aerith had long since turned in for the night, when Tifa drowsily opened her eyes to find Cloud crouched beside her chair. 

“Hi,” she whispered with a sweet smile, voice as sleep-laden as her eyes.

“Hi,” he answered, brushing her hair out of her face. “Is this a habit?” The question was gently teasing, a reference to her falling asleep in front of the fire for the second night in a row.

She blinked, long and slow, following it up with a minute shake of her head. “No, tonight I was waiting for you.” 

“Me?” Although he didn’t smile, there was still something about the curve of his mouth or the tone of his voice that said he was pleased. 

Nodding, her dark hair sliding like silk over the fine upholstery, Tifa let her eyes fall closed again. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.” When next she lifted her heavy lids, the sheen of tears glinted in the firelight. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize.”

The look in his mako eyes was soft as he wiped a lone tear away with his thumb. “I’m not.” He smiled. “I didn’t want you to be afraid.”

Eyes drifting shut of their own accord, she gave another minute shake of her head. “Not afraid. Not of you.” Of ghosts in general, yes, but she couldn’t be afraid of him. With effort, she opened her eyes and caught his gaze with her own. “Thank you for making me feel safe. And... thank you for playing along.” _For letting me have my fantasy._ Even being half asleep couldn’t stop her cheeks from flushing.

Gently catching her chin as she dropped her gaze in embarrassment, he turned her face back to his. “I liked it.” It was a simple, firm statement. The bare truth. _You weren’t the only one dreaming._

Despite her drowsiness, Tifa’s smile was bright. “Me, too.” Closing her eyes and tilting her head, she whispered it against his hand. Then she freed one arm from the blanket she’d wrapped around herself and crooked her index finger at him. Sleepy and mischievous, she resembled nothing so much as a drunk fairy.

Humor dancing in his eyes, Cloud obediently leaned in, bracing one arm on the back of the chair above her head. 

With his handsome face hovering so close to hers, Tifa took a deep breath to steady herself. “D’you think you might want to keep the role?” It was the boldest thing she’d ever said to a man, the only such invitation she’d ever made, and the words came out in a rush.

For a fraction of a second, if that, his expression betrayed his surprise. Then it was smoothed away by a blend of humor, adoration, and confidence. “I think I could really get into the part.”

Tifa shifted to sit up straighter, her nerves and racing heart helping to dispel the sleep fuzzing her thoughts. “Really?”

Cloud chuckled, the hand not braced above her lifting to cup her face, his thumb gently stroking the curve of her cheek. “Tifa.” 

Just her name, but his utterance made it an endearment, a compliment, an expression of wonder. Flattery without the flowery words or empty praise. It sent a thrill through her and rekindled the blush in her cheeks–from pleasure this time, not embarrassment. 

After a long moment, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m on borrowed time.” Lips brushing her skin, he said it without inflection. It was just a fact, something he’d long since accepted as truth. “Being with you is a gift.” Sighing, he retreated far enough he could look in her eyes, expression intent. “Are you sure you want to give it to me?”

Although it wasn’t a question she wanted to consider, had, in fact, spent most of the afternoon and evening pondering, she loved him just a bit more for asking. She replied with the insight Aerith had given her, the one she knew was truth. “I’m going to miss you, regardless. I don’t want to miss this, too.”

Even as she registered the curl of his mouth and the glint of something that looked a lot like relief in his eyes, Cloud was kissing her. At first, the press of his lips was careful and coaxing, courting her response rather than demanding it. Tifa gave it willingly, her hands fisting in his shirt to hold him close, to hold herself steady, and as she yielded, he grew more bold, his tongue sweeping between her lips as his fingers curled around her nape.

Rising up on her knees, Tifa loosened her hold on the front of his shirt to twine her arms around his neck. At the feel of her full breasts pressing against the hard planes of his chest, a wordless sound of approval escaped him, and she grinned into the kiss. Then it was her turn to moan as his arm fell from the back of the sofa to curl under her bottom, bringing the nascent ache at the apex of her thighs hard against him. 

With a huff of amusement, he nipped teasingly at her full bottom lip before pulling back. As she caught her breath, he kissed her nose and the delicate fans of her lashes. When her eyes opened they were dark, her pupils dilated until the reddish tone of her irises was almost obscured. 

“Okay?” His voice was a shade rougher than before, a bit darker.

Tifa nodded, dropping her arms to loop around his waist as she turned her face into the curve of his throat and shoulder. “Cloud?” Hers was soft and a bit shy, but happy, too.

“Hmm?” Lips skimming the rim of her ear, he felt her shiver as the wordless acknowledgment rumbled deep in his throat.

“Take me to bed?” Voice somewhat breathless, she asked the question and then bit her lip when she felt him still. Tilting her head back, she discovered his blue eyes awash with mako, bright and glowing, their color shifting from navy blue to the sea green of the waters near Costa Del Sol.

Gaze holding hers, every movement slow and deliberate, he shifted to cradle her back and knees, scooping her into a bridal carry. “Yes, please,” he said, the corner of his mouth crooking into a rakish smile.

As he gently deposited her on the bed, she caught one of his hands between hers, fingers curling on the cuff of his glove. “Can you take these off?” As a ghost, a being of energy, his clothes didn’t, technically, exist; they were part and parcel of how he envisioned himself. 

Blond brows lifted in surprise, then lowered in thought. “I’ve never tried.” A glance at her, and his mouth quirked into another smile. “Never had a reason before now.” After briefly considering the leather covering his hands, his eyes narrowed in concentration... and the gloves faded away. They were quickly followed by his pauldrons, boots, straps, and belts, until his lean frame was covered in nothing but his thin fatigues. 

Biting her lip, Tifa tugged at his shirt. “This too?” she asked, watching him through her lashes, and a moment later her palm was resting on smooth skin. She swallowed, bringing her other hand up to rest beside the first, touch light. “That’s a handy trick.”

Amusement and tenderness flitted across his face as he covered her hands with his, thumbs hooking under her palms to lift first one then the other so he could press a kiss in the center of each. Placing them together over his heart, he dropped his to the curve of her waist. “I think we’ll have to remove yours the old-fashioned way.”

Nodding, Tifa let her hands fall to her sides, grasping the hem of her pajama top with trembling fingers. Mako eyes watching her every move intently, Cloud noticed, and stilled her hands. “Not when you’re so nervous,” he murmured, shaking his head. 

She laughed, the sound more anxious than amused. “I think I’m going to be nervous regardless.” No matter how sweet or patient he was. “First time jitters.”

“Oh, Tifa,” low and gentle, there was promise and assurance in his voice. “Not if I do this right.” The words sent a thrill through her, had her trembling for an entirely different reason.

Fingers tangling with hers, he brought her hands up to his shoulders. “Hold on,” was all the warning he gave before sliding his arm behind her knees and lifting. When her grip tightened in surprise, he clicked his tongue in a chiding fashion, laughter dancing in his eyes. Throwing back the covers and piling the pillows against the headboard, he placed one knee on the bed before sliding across the mattress to settle himself amongst them. 

The shift happened so fluidly that Tifa blinked to find herself settled astride his lap, the lingering ache between her legs resting against the ridge of his fly. 

Once he was sure she was stable, he pinched the bottom of her pajama top between his thumbs and index fingers. “These don’t come off until you’re _eager_ for them to come off,” he said, giving a slight tug for emphasis. Then his hands dropped to her thighs, palms warm against her bare skin, the tips of his index and middle fingers stroking back and forth just under the hem of her pajama shorts. Chin lowered, he sent her a scorching look, the mako in his eyes bright. “And I’m going to make sure you’re eager.”

Chosen primarily for comfort, her pajamas were a soft voile in a blue-and-white stripe. Long sleeves kept her warm, while the pants were short to avoid having them twist around her in her sleep. Navy blue piping lined the cuffs and seams, and the one nod to whimsy was the scattering of flocked stars dotting the set. Tifa felt there was nothing sexy about them, especially considering the boxy, oversized cut, and the fact that she was wearing them with a pair of fluffy navy socks.

Cloud was about to change her mind.

He started with his thumbs, rubbing slow, almost absent circles on the skin of her thighs as he tilted his head to kiss her. Without conscious thought, Tifa’s hands sought purchase on his shoulder and in his hair, holding him close as their lips met. Lost in the press of his mouth and the glide of his tongue, her nervous tension faded and her muscles relaxed, her cleft settling firmly against his bulge. Approval rumbling in his throat, his hands inched higher, fingers drawing patterns composed of arcs and swirls as they wandered. Across her thighs to her hips, and from her hips to her rib cage; from her ribs to her upper arms, and from her arms to her shoulders. Touch delicate, he created shivers and trails of sensation with every stroke. Only when his mouth left hers, dropping to lave the well of her throat, did Tifa realize he was searching out the stars on the fabric. Finding one, he would circle around it, then let his fingers wander until they encountered another. As if he were playing a game of connect-the-dots, drawing the curves and planes of her body in lines of sensitized skin. 

From her shoulders he traced a path along her collarbone, down the placket of her shirt, then under and around her breasts, continuing to draw maddening loops around every star he encountered. Her nipples were peaked from the anticipation long before he actually reached them. From the incidental brush of the back of his hand or the side of his fingers, and the deliberately glancing strokes over her areola, the dark centers obvious shadows beneath the fine fabric.

“Breathe, Tifa,” Cloud murmured, chin nudging aside her collar to reach that sensitive spot just below her ear. Shivering as his teeth carefully scraped her earlobe, she gasped, and felt the movement of his lips against her as he smiled. “Good girl.”

Already restless and squirming from his teasing explorations, the praise made her shudder as her core clenched. Face flaming, scalp tingling, she hid in the curve of his neck and shoulder, a low keening escaping her throat as her hips moved with a will all their own. A single lurch dragged the focus of her need against the wonderfully solid ridge behind his zipper, and she froze, arms tight around his shoulders, mouth open against his throat, panting.

How could anything feel _that good_ and still leave her incomplete, unfulfilled, that little bud between her legs demanding more? 

“Shhhh.” Cloud’s hands dropped to her thighs, squeezing them gently before sliding his hands inside the oversized legs of her shorts. The loose fabric rucked up around his wrists as his palms settled over the narrow band of her panties, fingers splayed to cradle her butt. Then she was gasping again as his grip tightened, the heat of him like a brand, and rocked her body against his. 

If the steady pressure of him through their clothes had been amazing, then the addition of friction was exquisite. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she readily took up the rhythm he set.

“Perfect,” he whispered against her throat, “just like that.” And Tifa shivered, the next shift of her hips a little harder, as her body clenched in response. 

Left hand continuing to support and guide her movement, the right withdrew to take one of her hands in his as she stared at him through confused, arousal-glazed eyes. Smirking, he held her gaze as he kissed her palm, then closed his mouth around the tip of her index finger. Her free hand tightened on his shoulder, nails biting as he sucked. When his tongue swirled around it, she closed her eyes and drew a shaky breath, the rest of her fingers and hand curling around his thumb and clinging. After a few moments he tugged his hand free from her grasp, nudging her fingers with his chin to encourage her to shift her hold to frame his jaw. Then he reached out to cup the weight of her breast in his palm and rub his thumb lightly over the erect nipple, all the while continuing to drive her crazy with his mouth around her finger.

“Cloud,” breathy and strained, his name was a plea. Despite his every action pushing her closer to the edge, the journey seemed like more than she could take. At once too much and not enough.

Hollowing his cheeks he pulled at her finger one last time before his hand closed around her wrist and pulled it free in a long, slow glide. Tifa opened her eyes just in time to watch him lower his head and close his mouth around her nipple instead, his tongue pressing firmly at the aroused flesh through the fabric.

Abruptly, she realized why he’d been sucking on her finger. The pressure on her breast was much the same, yet nowhere near as intense with her pajama top in the way. And she needed that intensity fiercely. Knowing what she was missing made the lack unbearable. With a sound much like a sob, her fingers closed around the collar of her shirt and pulled it to the side. Oversized or not, the buttons didn’t provide enough give, and she sobbed again in frustration. Blue eyes watching her intently, something like challenge and something like encouragement in their depths, Cloud pursed his lips and sucked.

Tifa tugged on her collar again, no longer thinking clearly. “Please, Cloud. Please. Please!” 

Placing a light, butterfly kiss right on the tip of her nipple, he straightened. Gaze heated and dark, his fingers grabbed the bottom of her shirt and lifted, Tifa’s immediately rushing to join him. He let her pull it up and off, his mouth already closing around her nipple again before she’d even got it past her chin.

“Oh Goddess,” she whimpered at the feel of it: hot and wet, his tongue at once soft and firm. The sensations fueled the heat and want in her core, her hips jerking against him as her fingers delved into his hair. He was hard as iron between her legs, the feel of him promising relief, yet the gentle rocking was no longer enough to soothe the ache. 

Right hand retaking its place inside her shorts, Cloud guided her body into a hard, deliberate grind. Between that and the way his mouth worked her breast, her pleasure spiked, only to plateau again long moments later. Tifa tossed her head, fingers tugging at his hair. 

“Don’t rush it,” Cloud practically crooned, his voice low and soft. When she moaned, he placed sweet, tender kisses on her parted lips. “I know. I know you need it. I’ll give it to you, I promise.” As her head fell back, he nipped at the join of her neck and shoulder, then dipped his head further, pointing his tongue and painting circles around the hard peak which had so far been denied the attention.

Shuddering, Tifa fought his hold, hips twisting in an effort to get more friction, more pressure, more _something_. Voiced a plea for the same, wanting the release that seemed tantalizingly close.

“Let it happen,” he urged, thumbs hooking under the band of her panties to rub soothingly over the sensitized crease where hip met thigh. “Come for me.” 

At that, Tifa’s entire body tightened, arching toward him as she strained to do as he asked, falling just short of the threshold to bliss. Biting her lip, she sent her hand gliding down his chest to the point where they were pressed together, intent on pushing herself over. 

“Ah ah ah,” he scolded, catching her hand in one of his before snaring the other for good measure. Putting them behind her back, he threaded his fingers through hers to hold them captive. The helpless position sent another heavy throb of want through her, and she cried out, fingers curling against his. Without his restraining hold, her hips rocked against him once, twice, before the pressure of their joined hands forced her still. 

The sudden stillness, the lack of friction, heightened her desire and made her frantic with want; at the same time, the peak she was climbing felt too high, the coming fall too great for her to handle. It left Tifa torn between her desperate need for the release her body was chasing, and a newfound fear that she would shatter from the loss of control when she came. Opening wild, tear-filled eyes, she found Cloud watching her with both heat and tenderness, his calm a thrilling contrast to her need. “Please,” she whispered, not even certain what she was asking for, “please.” Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against his, breathing labored as her throat tightened.

Releasing her hands, he brought his up to frame her face, something steadying in the brush of his fingers at her nape, the brush of his thumb across her lips. “Trust me,” he coaxed, whispering the words against her mouth as her hands closed around his wrists, clinging and urgent. “Don’t be afraid. Let go.” Not that he was giving her a choice in the matter; he seemed determined to push her over the edge in tiny, maddening increments. 

When she nodded, he kissed her, mouth demanding the same surrender he was taking from her body. Tifa gave it, fingers tightening on his wrists as her lips parted for his tongue. Ending the kiss with a gentle tug at her bottom lip, he dropped his hands to cup her bottom, once more directing her hips into that slow, heavy grind. Gaze intent on her flushed face, he responded to the catches in her breath and the press of her nails by shifting their angle to provoke more of the same. Soon, each slow rotation put pressure in just the right spot, dragged her body against his just right. 

Slowly but steadily the crescendo built, until it felt like every time could be the one to send her over. “Oh,” she said, the sound low, breathy, and eager, when he urged her body against his and she knew the edge was _right there_. “Oh, ohh,” as her hands slid along his arms, nails digging crescents without conscious thought. Once more, and she’d go over. Just once more.

“There you go,” he said, gaze steady and tender, voice a smooth, deep croon as his hands urged her greedy little bud against his length, giving her that last, needed push. “That’s my beautiful girl.”

Tifa fell. 

Somewhere, her legs were trembling, muscles clenching, back bowing as she came. Somewhere, strong arms held her safe as she lost control. But for a long, endless moment, all she knew–all she could process–was the intense, all encompassing pleasure welling through her. Exploding like starbursts, like fireworks, like she was made of shooting stars. Enveloping her like warm velvet, like being drenched in honey and melted chocolate. All of it, all at once.

When finally the trembling stopped and the feelings started to abate, she chased them. As Cloud rolled her onto her back amongst the pillows and settled beside her, she pressed her still-pulsing core hard against the muscled thigh he’d obligingly nestled between her legs, moaning as the sweet, lingering throb there intensified. The sound earned a soft huff of affectionate laughter, followed by a kiss against her shoulder and another on the tip of her nose, his hand rubbing warm, comforting circles on her stomach.

“Good?” his tone a blend of teasing and cajoling, he breathed the word while nuzzling her ear, spawning another ripple of reactive shivers. Blushing, Tifa nodded, blindly turning into the caress, and felt more than heard the self-satisfied chuckle he played against her throat. “I’m glad.” The hand on her stomach shifted lower, fingers following the seam on the front of her shorts down, between her legs. “The next one will be even better.”

The fabric was already crushed against her, damp with her arousal. His middle finger slid easily along the stitching to burrow gently between her folds, stroking over her clit. Tifa drew in a sharp breath at the feel of it. Although the aftershocks she’d been chasing had faded, that single, careful press of his finger made it clear that her body still needed, still wanted, and was greedily clamoring for more.

When he pulled back, her hips followed, arching into the weight of his palm, and she closed her legs around his hand in an effort to keep his fingers there where she needed them. If he started another circuitous game of connect-the-stars, she didn’t think she could take it. Shaking her head, she wrapped her hand around his wrist. “No more stars,” she said, trying and failing to sound firm rather than pleading.

“No?” Cloud paused as if considering. “Not even this one?” He drew a tight little circle right on top of her engorged button, and Tifa cried out. Then he let his middle finger sink back down between her folds in one long stroke, before pulling back and doing it all again. On the third pass, he traced the star rather than circling it, five strokes with the edge of his fingernail. By the fourth he’d established a steady rhythm, and Tifa collapsed back into the pillows, eyes closed and hands fisted.

Somehow, whether it was something in her expression, her voice, or her movements, Cloud knew the precise moment when the friction from the damp fabric rubbing against her verged on uncomfortable, that little nub too sensitive. Leaning in close he kissed her temple, rested his forehead there as his fingers moved to the waistband of her shorts. “I think it’s time for these to go.” 

She nodded, readily lifting her hips as he untied the drawstring, letting him slip them down and off, taking her socks along with them and dropping the tangle of fabric on the floor. But when she slid her thumbs under the sides of her panties, preparing to remove them, he stopped her.

“I like these.” Delicately tracing the white lace at the waist, he smiled, glancing up to meet her surprised gaze. The mako in his eyes was flaring again, bright in contrast to the dark blue, and despite the humor in their depths, it was something dark and possessive swirling there that gave her a thrill deep inside. “Did you pick them just for me?” he asked, shifting so that he hovered above her, hands propped on either side of her head. “A private little declaration that you’re mine?”

Blinking in confusion, Tifa glanced down at what she was wearing. She didn’t own any overtly sexy lingerie, and wouldn’t have brought any on this trip even if she did. Her only indulgence was a preference for matching sets, pretty but practical. These were a match for the bra, which, in turn, was a match for the dress she planned to wear in the morning. They were plain, comfortable blue satin dressed up with white, cloud-patterned lace insets...

Abruptly it clicked, and she blushed furiously, covering her face with her hands. “I didn’t... I mean, I packed them? So they were in my suitcase?” She swallowed, then licked her lips. “I was bound to wear them sometime...”

His chuckle, deep in his chest, sounded a lot like a purr as he kissed her to stop her babbling. “I still like them,” he murmured against her throat, offering the assurance as he kissed a slow path down the column of it. Reclining beside her again, his fingers dropped to slide slowly across the fabric stretched taut across her flat tummy. “When I take you, you're going to be just as soft and slick as this satin.”

“Cloud!” Her core clenching, clit throbbing in reaction, Tifa arched helplessly, body stretching and displaying for him. 

“Beautiful,” he crooned in appreciation, sliding his palm up her stomach to rub his thumb over first one nipple and then the other. Hands fisted on the pillows, she lifted her hips again, needing contact, pressure, _him_. Taking advantage, he slid the blue fabric off and away. “Look how perfect you are.” Part enthralled adoration, part demand, his voice was a low rumble that stoked the need inside her as effectively as his touch. Whimpering, she opened dazed eyes to watch as he brushed his fingers over her neatly trimmed mound. When he settled his palm there, grinding down with the ball of his hand, she bit her lip, moaning in helpless anticipation as his fingers slid between her thighs, gathering her pooling moisture to gentle his touch.

Light as chocobo down, the first brush of his fingertip across her engorged bud was teasing. Testing. Gradually, in agonizingly small increments, he increased the pressure until the pad of his finger was massaging her clit rather than stroking. Each firm rotation made her legs tremble and her hips twist, grinding into his hand. 

“Just like that,” Tifa begged, voice an emphatic whisper, head tossing restlessly, “please, Cloud! More! Just... like... that...!” 

As before, he refused to be rushed, no matter how she arched or rocked her hips. Teased her further by altering his pace until she stopped trying, then rewarded her by dipping his head to draw circles around her nipple in time with the motion of his hand. Abruptly, the tension in her belly snapped and she came for the second time.

As he’d promised, it was better than the first. Head back, she screamed his name. 

When the pleasure faded, Cloud was holding her, his voice a soothing, wordless rumble against her ear. She’d burrowed into his shoulder, needing to feel grounded and protected while out of control, and he’d willingly given her the safety she sought, wrapping his arm around her to cuddle her close. His other hand was still a warm weight between her legs, the pressure somehow comforting, her thighs closed tight to keep it there.

As she relaxed, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, skated his open mouth along her smooth skin to press another against her throat. “Know what I’ve discovered?” There was a wicked, teasing note in his voice that made her shiver, and when she shook her head, his soft laugh did the same. “You’re even prettier when you come.” 

Catching her breath on a gasp, she moaned with the sudden need to come apart for him again. That quickly, she was ready for more. That quickly, the hand between her legs became a promise, rather than a comfort.

Cloud wasn’t finished, though. “And the sound of your voice screaming my name? I’m going to make sure I hear that again. Every. Time. You. Come.” He brushed his lips over her parted mouth once for every enunciated word, before settling there, kissing her slow and deep. 

Sliding his thigh along and over hers, fabric of his fatigues rough against her silken skin, he nudged between her legs, encouraging them to part. She resisted, making a soft, protesting sound into his mouth, not wanting to lose the pressure of his hand. “Greedy,” he murmured between kisses, grinning, and ground his palm against her clit until she surrendered.

Touch gentle, his fingers slipped between her folds in search of the tender opening that still wept and ached for him. Finding it, he slowly sank one long finger inside her until fully seated, his palm cupping her folds. Tifa trembled at the intrusion, careful though it was, and the hand in his hair tightened. He stilled to let her adjust, his thumb beginning to rub those slow, firm circles over her engorged nub to feed her arousal and ease her acceptance. When she started to move her hips in response, rocking into the pressure, he followed her rhythm, stroking his finger in-and-out. 

The fullness inside was completely new, and yet satisfied a familiar empty ache. When he added a second finger to the first, and the feeling intensified, she couldn’t help but moan. “Perfect. You’re perfect, Tifa,” Cloud murmured, and her body responded to the approval by clinging all the tighter. 

Continuing his steady stroking, he fluttered his fingers inside her, scattering fleeting touches against an especially sensitive spot. At the sudden burst of tingly, shivery, exquisite sensation, she cried out, head thrashing, back arching off the bed. Simultaneously deep in her core and on top of her skin, it was almost too good to take. She keened, needing him to do again, and after adding a third finger, filling her fuller still, he did. “Cloud!” 

The arm cushioning her shoulders gathered her closer, slipping around her waist to thread his fingers through hers. “I know, I know. Open for me, sweetling.” Low and coaxing, the words were accompanied by another brush against that spot inside, this one firmer. Writhing beneath him, her hips raising in supplication, she realized she was on the edge again.

“Oh, oh... _Cloud_!” Her voice was tight, eyes pricking with tears from the intensity of what she was feeling both physically and emotionally. “It’s too much.” Too strong, too _good_. 

“Maybe.” Fingers still entwined, he raised his hand and tilted her head back, mako eyes searching her face. Then his mouth quirked. “But you want it.” The way he said it–so confident, so matter-of-fact–somehow made her want it _more_. “Your body has been getting ready for me,” he added, fluttering his fingers inside her again. “Every time you come. Once more, and you’ll have me right here.” He spread his fingers for emphasis, just enough for her to feel it, and his thumb suddenly ceased its slow, lazy circles in favor of a hard, fast grind. “Come for me, Tifa.”

Back arching, head coming hard against his shoulder, fingers pulling in his hair, everything in her tightened as the moment stretched and the wave of pleasure swelled. When it broke, it crashed over and through her in one long cascade. Shaking, screaming, _wailing_ , she came. “Cloud! _Cloud!_ Please, please... _Cloud!_ ”

“I’m here. I’ve got you, Tifa.” Shifting so that his weight pressed her gently into the mattress, he folded her close, tucking her head into the hollow of his shoulder. Almost instinctively she clung to him, arms twining around his neck and her legs scissoring tightly closed around one of his. “I’ve got you,” he repeated, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

Tremors continued to echo inside her, sending sweet little shivers up her spine and through her limbs, and the feel of him, warm and solid against her, was infinitely comforting. And despite the hard ridge she could feel pressed against her stomach, he seemed content to hold her for as long as she needed, infinitely patient. “How are you so perfect?” she mumbled, sniffling.

Drawing back, he brushed the tears from her cheeks and gave her that sweet, boyish smile that made her melt inside. “Me? You’re the one who’s perfect.” He brushed his lips over hers. “Perfect little mouth.” Skimmed his fingers over the curves of her breast, waist and hip. “Perfect body.” Following the crease where body met thigh, he slipped his fingers between her legs to rub one knuckle gently over her clit, eyes intent as she bit her lip and rocked into the touch. “Perfectly responsive.” His other hand cradled her face, and her eyes darted up to meet his. “Perfect Tifa.”

“Cloud.” Soft and tremulous, she whispered his name before turning to nuzzle his palm.

Fingers warm on her inner thigh, he parted her legs and shifted to kneel between them, murmuring a soft, “Good girl,” when she bent her knees to make more room. Rubbing calming circles on the soft skin behind her knees and the taut muscles in her thighs, he gradually worked his way back up to her mound. 

Tifa’s eyes widened when she realized his fatigues had faded away, leaving him as naked as she. The shaft she’d found her pleasure against that first time was every bit as thick and heavy looking as it had felt. As she stared it flexed, the movement somehow _hungry_ , and she swallowed, her eyes darting back to his face. 

His gaze was fixed between her legs as his fingers stroked over her damp folds, but a glance upward betrayed his awareness of her nervousness, the crook of his mouth both amused and affectionate. “Tifa,” he said, making it a mild scold, “trust me.”

And she did, but... “Hold me?” Because she wanted, needed, to hold _him_. To cling to him, so she could feel safe when he took her, and she fell apart.

She’d barely breathed the question before he was there, left arm braced beside her as the right directed the smooth head of his shaft to rub against her clit. “Put your arms around me, Tifa.” It was a demand couched in a coaxing tone, but she didn’t need the urging. Even as she shivered and moaned in reaction to the frictionless stroke of him, delicate compared to the press of his thumb, she slipped her arms around him, palms flat against his back. 

Satisfied with her readiness and their alignment, he sank his length slowly inside in one long, steady push, bottoming out just as she started trembling. “Mmmm,” he let the wordless, satisfied sound play against her throat, holding his body still as hers adjusted. “You feel so good, Tifa. Soft and slick as satin.” It was a blatant echo of what he’d said about her panties, his smirk audible if unseen, and while part of her wanted to chastise him for it, she didn’t. Couldn’t. Not when he must be able to feel the way her body had reacted, clenching and shivering at the praise, his confidence. 

Bracing himself on his palms, he began to move against her in slow, grinding rotations. It was a familiar motion, well practiced during their earlier activity, and soon her only trembling was due to the pleasure building within. Gradually, he shifted to long, deep thrusts, withdrawing most of his length before plunging back inside, finishing with a twist of his hips each time he returned to her. This was another familiar sensation, each thrust sliding his shaft over her engorged bud in one long glide, much like the press of his finger before, and before long Tifa couldn’t resist moving with him. 

Feet planted in the bedding, she arched into every downstroke. Mouth pressed to her throat, Cloud murmured something, the words indistinct, but the tone went straight to where they were joined, her body clenching around him. His hand lifted to ride her hip, then slid around to cup her bottom, helping her find just the right angle so his cock would brush that spot inside. Adding that wonderful tingly, shivery burst of pleasure to the mix had her hands tightening until her fingernails left trails along his back.

Soon she was moaning, breathing wordless sounds of need in his ear with every thrust. Lifting his head, he watched her, blue eyes alight with more than mako, and the desire and possession there was enough to have Tifa’s hips rolling involuntarily. Closing her eyes, heady with the thrill of his focus, his want, she stretched, back bowing to present her breasts. Whispered his name when he dropped kisses light as air on the tip of each.

Leaning into his thrusts, he sped up, taking her harder. Pushing her higher. Buffeted by pleasure without and within, needing him closer still, she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist, holding tight when next he filled her completely. “Tifa.” She shuddered at the way he said her name, head tossing, limbs and body clinging as he ground his hips against hers. “Tifa!” His hand cupped her face, thumb stroking her cheek, and she opened her eyes, their gazes locking. “Let go. Come for me.”

It was different with him there, solid and heavy inside her. With his body sheltering hers, and her limbs folded around him. With steady pressure absolutely everywhere she needed it, and friction to make the pleasure last. And then, finally, the feel of him shaking with his own release, and the certainty that she’d brought him over the edge with her. 

_Perfection._

After, long minutes later when all but the deepest involuntary quivers had ceased, he tucked her exhausted, well-loved body under the covers and snuggled her close. Drowsy and boneless, she let him arrange things to his satisfaction, more than satisfied herself with her head pillowed on his arm and her legs pinned between his. 

“Cloud?” It was a shadow of a whisper in the dark, her voice slow and drowsy.

“Hmmm?” His nonverbal affirmation was equally quiet, as if to keep from rousing her further.

“I didn’t scream your name, that last time.” Her lips brushed against his neck as she whispered it, her sleepy tone failing to mask the note of impish teasing. 

A soft huff of laughter preceded a kiss on the top of her head, his hand on her hip tucking her a little tighter against him. 

“We’ll work on it.”

* * *

“Good morning, lovebirds!” 

Aerith’s voice was an unwelcome herald of daylight. Doing her best to ignore it, Tifa snuggled closer to Cloud. Thanks to him she was warm, comfortable, and had slept more soundly than she’d ever done in her life.

Giggling, Aerith moved closer. “Seriously, Tifa. You need to wake up. This is important.”

Grumbling, Tifa pressed a kiss to Cloud’s throat, the gesture part morning greeting, part farewell. From prior experience, she knew he’d disappear once she surrendered to wakefulness. His soft, almost voiceless laughter came in response, then he was brushing her hair away from her face in order to kiss her. He was thorough, taking her mouth the way he’d taken her body: with skill and patience. 

“Is it hot in here, or is it just me?” 

The comment was bright, teasing, and thoroughly unwelcome. As Cloud pulled away, Tifa considered chasing his mouth with hers, but the last vestiges of sleep were fast fading as irritation rose. Turning on her side, she opened her eyes to find Aerith standing beside the bed, fanning herself with one hand, the other holding aloft a bright amber materia, still glowing from use.

“Whew!” she said. “When you go for it, you really go for it!” The fanning stopped just long enough to give a thumbs up. 

Beside Tifa, Cloud muffled a huff of amusement against the top of her head, and her eyes widened at the fact he was still there, still solid. Abruptly, she rolled onto her back to find her shock mirrored on his face. 

In the stunned quiet, Aerith cleared her throat, drawing their attention. “Well,” she said, placing her hands on her hips, “do you want the good news, or the bad news?”

**Author's Note:**

> Well. That went on for a while. 😳
> 
> **Clothing Links**  
> 
> 
>   * [Pictures of their comfort clothes, if you are interested](https://twitter.com/SekiharaTae/status/1332447623207292929)
>   * [Tifa's pajamas](https://www.net-a-porter.com/en-us/shop/product/rails/kellen-flocked-striped-voile-pajama-set/1275520)
>   * [Her lingerie, or something like it](https://www.glamorousamorous.com/Shop/Signature-Skinny-Brief-in-Sky-Blue-p120684599)
> 

> 
> **Food and Drink**
> 
>   * The breakfast special they order is a version of what we Americans call French Toast. I looked up other names for it and found that "Poor Knights" is common in Europe. When I mentioned that to my husband, I slipped and called it "poor soldiers" at first; so that's what it's called in the fic. The information on names is on Wikipedia, but [here's a bit of an explanation as to why it's called poor knights](https://www.kitchenproject.com/history/FrenchToast/index.htm).
>   * The "[smoking clergy](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Smoking_Bishop)" is a reference to a group of mulled wines, each with 'smoking' in the name: Smoking Bishop, Smoking Cardinal, etc.
>   * Tifa's Wutaian cinnamon punch is based on Korean [Sujeonggwa](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sujeonggwa). I have never had it, but it sounds delicious. I don't know if anyone has ever spiked it with applejack.
>   * [Aerith's mulled white wine](https://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2012/12/riesling-hot-toddy-recipe.html)
>   * [Video of someone making a Blue Blazer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V8NLgxnVg6U&t=670s)
> 



End file.
